


Saving John

by reigningqueenofwords



Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 03:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18241037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reigningqueenofwords/pseuds/reigningqueenofwords





	Saving John

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SOFreddie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOFreddie/gifts), [Megansescape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megansescape/gifts).



“I’m _sick_ of this shit, Mary!” John’s voice boomed from their bedroom. “I work to feed you and the boys, you bitch because I work too much. I stay home to spend time with my family, and you bitch about lost money!” He continued. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

She glared at him, arms crossed. “I want you to be here! Why don’t you get a better job? Instead of wasting your life at that stupid garage?” Mary spat.

He looked at her like she had said the most offensive thing possible. “You expect me to give up the garage?” He ground out. “I own part of that garage, Mary. It keeps me fuckin’ sane when I have to come home to this shit!” His eyes were full of anger, all aimed towards her. “I want something I can fucking pass to my boys! Or are you too fucking concerned about money that you’d rather I wear a monkey suit and buy you some shiney new fuckin’ jewelry?!” There was a threat to his voice, that she better answer carefully, because their marriage was on the outs.

“You don’t care about us.” Mary spat. “All you care about is that dead end job at that piece of shit garage, and your precious car!”

John laughed, a real laugh, that shook his whole body. “Shit, you’re dumber than I thought.” Her mouth hung open as she stared at him, shocked that he was laughing, and that he’d said such a thing. “You think I don’t care about you? You think I don’t care about my fucking boys?” His smile fell, a snarl taking over as he spoke. “I’m going to walk out that fuckin’ door, you hear me?” He ground out, his voice low while pointing to their bedroom door. “And the next time I walk through the front door? I’m takin’ all my shit, and those boys with me. You can have your fuckin’ house. You can keep the furniture. I don’t give a shit about that. Unlike you, you materialistic _bitch_.”

She was shaking slightly. “You won’t take my boys.”

“Watch me.” His eyes were locked on hers, a fire in them.

* * *

Mary saw no sign of her husband after that. She missed him, but she didn’t feel she was in the wrong. He’d send money, sure, but never anything with it. No note, no letter. It bothered her. If he cared about their boys so much, where was he?

It had been three months since John stormed out their front door when he came storming back in. The man that stood there in the doorway wasn’t her husband. He looked rougher, for one. His shoulders were squared off, but the rest of his posture was laid back, and relaxed. She hadn’t heard him even pull up. Mary knew the sound of the Impala, but the engine she heard sounded deeper, more menacing.

Instead of his usual brown work jacket, he was wearing a black motorcycle jacket. Even she had to admit that she was enjoying it. He smirked at her, a look telling her that he knew something she didn’t. “Well, look at that.” He sauntered in, shutting the door behind him. “I was expecting to come home to find you fucking some rich asshole.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She spat.

“Well, you get all wet for money.” He shrugged. “Figured your cunt would lead you to the nearest dumb _fuck_ with a fat wallet.”

Mary glared at him, her jaw set. “If you’re going to use that kind of language, you can get the hell out.”

Licking his lips, he moved closer, his eyes locked on hers. He watched as she swallowed, backing up. Without her really noticing, he’d backed her up against a wall. His palms were flat against the wall on both sides of her head. “Seein’ as I paid for this fuckin’ house, I can say whatever the fuck I want. Ain’t that right, Mary?” He growled her name, the anger that he’d felt that night having grown.

“You said I could have the house.” She reminded him.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you fuckin’ _own_ it, sweetheart.” Leaning forward just a bit he saw the stubbornness in her eyes shift into fear. “I see you’re still wearin’ your fuckin’ wedding ring.” His voice was low. “Looks like that ass is still mine, too.”

She spit in his face. “Don’t touch me!” Mary ground out.

“Don’t worry.” He told her, sounding bored. “Rape don’t get my dick hard.” His look was harsh, and sent a shiver down her spine. He wiped off the spit from his face. “I’m only here for my boys.” He told her, standing up straight.

Mary shook her head. “You aren’t taking them.” She breathed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Like you have any fuckin’ say.” He scoffed.

“They aren’t even here.” She ground out.

All he did was nod while rubbing the scruff on his jaw. “See you soon, sweetheart.” He smirked, giving her a wink before he moved towards the door. Standing in the doorway, the door open, he looked back at her. “If it wasn’t for that mouth, you’d still be a fine piece off ass. Shame it was wasted on you.”

Mary thought she would kill him right then as the door slammed shut behind him. Moments later, she heard the same engine as before. 

* * *

After that day, every noise made Mary jump. Something that her boys didn’t miss, but never asked about. Dean was 14, and Sam was 10. There was no way that she’d tell them anything that was bothering her. She wouldn’t want that on their shoulders.

She could count the days from the last time she saw him, because she barely slept. Constantly looking at her clock that had the date made it hard to miss.

7 days passed.

9 days.

15 days.

30 days.

Every day was full of fear. Neither of the boys had told her that they had been seeing their father, knowing that their parents weren’t on good terms.

## 45 days.

It was the night of the 46th day that changed everything. Just like every night, she crawled into bed, fear flowing through her veins. She had just closed her eyes when a loud bang from downstairs sent her into a panic.

His boots could be heard moving up the stairs. The thudding noise they made the only thing piercing the silence in the old house. They stopped, just for a moment, the hall light shining under her bedroom door. Sitting up, she was shaking as her door slowly opened, squeaking and creaking.

Standing there was John. Only she couldn’t really see his face, as she was blinded by the hall light shining around him. “Well, hello there, dear wife.” He chuckled, sauntering towards their once shared bed. “Now, I’ve had some time to think shit over.” John placed his barbed bat over his shoulder, watching her. “My name is on the fuckin’ deed to this house. My fuckin’ ring is on that dainty little finger. My fuckin’ last name is what you sign. See where I’m goin’, Mary?” He asked, a little too jovial for the situation.

“That you’re a twisted prick?” She ground out. 

John laughed, leaning so his face was in hers. “You belong to me, sweetheart.” All joking had left the room, his eyes harsh on hers. “I’ll come back, and your pretty little ass won’t say shit. I will do what I damn well please, who I damn well please, when I damn well please.” His eyes stayed locked on Mary’s. “But _you_? You and that pussy belong to me. The only dick you’re allowed near…is mine.”

Mary shook her head. “Get out, or I’m calling the cops.”

Hearing a woman’s laughter, they looked towards the door. He stood up straight, grinning. “There you are, baby girl.” He greeted her. “Do what I asked?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.” She purred.

John bit his lip. “Get that perky ass home. I’ll be back later.” He winked before she wiggled her fingers and headed out.

“Who was that?” Mary spat.

“None of your mother fuckin’ business, that’s who.” He growled. “Now, are you gonna play nice?”

“Go to hell.”

Negan smirked, shaking his head. “Wrong answer.” Although he was smirking, his eyes were filled with rage. “You have no _idea_ how wrong.” His smirk fell, making him look more like a psychotic killer from some slasher film.

Mary had never feared John, even at his angriest. Now? Now she was beyond terrified. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m gonna shut you the fuck up.” He replied simply before both hands gripped the handle of his favored weapon, pulling it back over his head, and then swinging it down with all his might. The first cracking sound he heard was the last thing he remembered before completely blacking out with rage.

* * *

It felt like mere seconds to him, but he knew it wasn’t. Standing in what had once been a pristine kitchen, stood a very bloody John. His eyes went to the bat that he held in his hand, watching the blood drip from the barbed wire. He felt the warm liquid on his face, causing him to wipe it.

His body was still burning with anger, his jaw clenching, as he thought about Mary. How self-righteous and money hungry she was. Licking his lips, he tasted the salty taste of blood that he knew wasn’t his.

Turning, he saw the trail of blood up the hall, turning towards the stairs. He was going to simply walk out, until he saw his boys’ backpacks. They weren’t even supposed to be home! He’d had his girl pick them up, and drop them off with his men. Clearly, she fucked up.

His long legs moved him towards the stairs, and he jogged up them two at a time, his rage turning to worry. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, his knees gave out. There, lying in a pool of his own blood, was his youngest. His shaggy hair matted. John let go of the bat and crawled forward, tears burning in his eyes. When he reached Sam, he broke, and then looked into what would haunt him forever.

There was his dead wife, lying in bed, blood splattered everywhere. That wasn’t what killed him. On the floor was his eldest boy, his own blood pooling around him. John had never seen so much blood in his life.

Looking down at his hands, he broke for the last time. His tears stopped,  the ache in his chest vanished, and his love for his family locked away down deep. He was numb.

Pulling out his wallet, he found his ID and sneered at it. “John’s dead.” He growled, tossing it away from him. Standing, he moved towards the stairs, reaching down and grabbing the bat without stopping. He had a bitch to punish.

* * *

Walking in his front door, his eyes went straight to her. Her eyes went wide when she saw him covered in blood. “John?” She gasped.

“Name’s Negan, sweetheart. And you fucked up.” He pointed the bat at her.


End file.
